


Settling Smoke

by fem_castielnovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Castiel's Trenchcoat, Gen, Supply Run, falling!Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/fem_castielnovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off of <a href="http://fem-deanwinchester.tumblr.com/post/132554149645/bamf-castiel-his-wings-burned-slowlythe-heat">this</a> gorgeous art by bamf_Castiel<br/><br/><em>"oh man to me this just perfectly represents that little window of time between fallen!cas and orgy-hosting!cas where he'd still put on the trench coat on excursions to get supplies or hunt Croats and he'd be learning to carry multiple weapons and in true Winchester fashion he's immediately started with drinking as a coping mechanismbut he's only just picked up the habit of smoking as a way to calm down after a hunt</em><br/><em>and he kinda likes it"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Settling Smoke

 

 

 

The gun is heavy in his palm.  
Smith & Wesson, Model 59. Practical, suitable, necessary.   
It isn’t as big as his 1911 pistol, which he had forgotten back at his cabin, but he can still feel the weight of it in his periphery.

He shrugs his shoulders and adjusts his coat. His tie is pulled taut at the base of his throat but it hangs limply. It’s more than the humidity, which is the excuse the leaves have for not crunching under his boots.

This really the perfect weather for a mission. Not that they had a choice about going out on this one; they needed medicine and there were Croats camped out in between them and the warehouse of supplies. It was almost convenient. They could eliminate a threat, meet the quota, and stock up all at once.

Cas tugs at his lapel again. It’s not so much an effort to make his clothing more comfortable as it is a substitute for adjusting the metaphysical; soothing the incorporeal. His back aches. It feels like it’s covered in melting wax.

 

Around him, the forest seems still and Cas stops his movement to read his surroundings. It takes more effort than it used to but he still has supernatural agency. He pinpoints those who belong to the camp, notes the subtle differences of the approaching figures and rounds the cluster of trees with his gun at the ready.  
Three shots take out three croats.

Distantly he hears more weapons go off and knows that it’s going to add urgency to mission-goers as well as the beastly ex-humans they hunt. It’s less about precision than speed, in this second round of combat.

Castiel breaks through a glen and is showered with water droplets. Through the heat of his pain, it only adds to the underlying sense of wetness that he feels. Halo dripping, he’s a leaky faucet of grace. The trickle is steady but slow, and Castiel is learning to deal with it. It’s accented by the weather and the mildew of the forest detrius.

More movement. He stops to wait for his prey to approach him – hears them sniff the air and pant raggedly. He raises the gun to the branches shifting ahead of him. A flash of skin peeks through the green and when Cas fires, a body falls through the brush. Another emerges, unshot. Cas fires again and watches bullets cleave into the loose flesh.

He reloads the gun. Mentally he considers whether or not they _(the camp)_ should try and stock up on salt which only prompts him to tally the number of salt rounds they had last time he counted the arsenal. He counts everything. It’s one of the habits he’s acquired. Castiel rationalizes it with the jolting thought that the camp could be taken down in a single raid if their supplies were ever miscounted. If everything wasn’t where it was supposed to be or if anything went unrationed.  
_There must always be enough._

Cas advances on a third group of croats. The angle is awkward – he has to get in close but they go down easy. A bullet catches one of them in the throat. Cas jerks back deftly and avoids blood spatter. It wouldn’t do for a sloppy kill to ruin his clothes. There’s a long day ahead – a long week, really – and only so much wash-water to go around.

The forest is silent around him and the corpses.  
He feels safe in his coat. Cas glances to the left cuff where a few stubborn stains have made their home. They’ll fade as time moves on and the coat becomes worn and weathered. He doesn’t think about its lifespan. Only hopes it outlasts his grace and can give him comfort in the days after his powers are gone.

He turns to look behind himself. His eyes catch on the bodies nestled in the loam. The wind shifts and the branches above him part. He’s coated in grey sunlight that pools at his feet and on his victims.

Castiel expands his presence. No one’s infected yet. He strains himself but confirms that the last of the croats are within range of one camp member or another.

With the forest cleared out, those assigned to scavenge can approach the storehouse safely.  
_Get in, get out, get back to the jeeps_ , had been Dean’s orders. Cas has noticed that the more missions they go on, the more serious everyone is about following his instructions. Perhaps the severity of their situation has begun to truly dawn on them.

He circles back to the clearing and stands to monitor the procession back and forth between the warehouse and the vehicles.

His wings stretch back, unkempt and sparking with the dwindling remains of his angelic life. The feathers are constantly smoking.

There’s a noise at the edge of the trees.

They had missed two. Somehow he’d not accounted for any of the team lowering their inhibitions enough for anything to slip past them. He catches one at sixty yards. Everyone in the clearing startles at the sound but Cas stays focused.  
Even now, his grace fails him. It unravels as the Host dissipates.

He fires. The croat lumbers towards him then falls dead at his feet.

Panic relieved, everyone goes back to their assignments.

 _Grace_.  
Too volatile to stay contained, it destroys itself, and the holy parts of him. His wings burn slowly, the heat consuming one after another, changing every feather to nothing but ash and dust. It's not that he tries to count. He can’t help but keep track; constantly aware of each quill slipping out and dropping to the earth. Even as he sleeps.  
The burning wraps around and across his spine. His wings used to be weightless.

 

He sighs to himself, “… I need a drink.”  
Footsteps approach quietly but Cas looks out to the forest. He knows it’s Dean who walks up behind him.

“It’ll have to wait. We’ve got another sting two miles north and we don’t need to waste time coming back later.”

Cas doesn’t look down at the body before him. He turns to watch the rest of the group round up by the vehicles.

“Would you settle for a smoke?” Dean asks - generous, _gracious_.

Cas nods but doesn’t so much as offer a glance of acknowledgement.

Dean fishes a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He shakes one out, extending the box in Cas’s direction. Cas pops it into his mouth, searches his own pockets for a lighter. Dean takes one for himself and tucks the rest of the package away. All Cas comes up with is a book of matches.  
The quick strike sounds soft in the open air. Dean cups a hand around the flame while Cas lights up with practiced ease. He holds the half-burned stick out to Dean who offers a “Thanks,” around the cigarette in his own mouth.

The first puff of smoke is bitter. The second, grounding.  
Another feather slips to the forest floor.

Cas adjusts his tie and rolls his shoulders. They get so stiff being held up and back all the time. But the position is what he’s used to, and he isn’t quite ready to give it up.

Dean surveys the area once more. All but he and Cas are in the vehicles or shutting trunks.

“One last perimeter check then we move out."  
_You go left, I go right, we meet back at the jeep_ \- unspoken but understood.

Cas nods and takes off. He feels his friend’s eyes on his back a moment longer. Perimeter checks are special occasions.  
They’re the only times he walks away from Dean.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always, very appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.


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